


so hard to breathe

by bountifulsilences



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anxiety, Character Study, Drowning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, M/M, Panic Attacks, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Suicide, refering to steve and the valkyrie, suicide ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 21:17:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18290405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bountifulsilences/pseuds/bountifulsilences
Summary: No- no- no, he couldn’t go back. He wouldn’t survive a second time, he didn’t- couldn’t go-Eyes springing open, he could have screamed.or the one, where a mission forces Steve to the Arctic, the ice has conspired against him, and he's transported to the Valkyrie to live his demise once more.





	so hard to breathe

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be: not this. but it turned out to be: this. to be fair, my writing is out of my control so... also, i know this depiction of the crash and what came after is...a lot. but it was interesting to write, very cool. didn't turn out how i wanted it to but then again it sucks soo... big yikes.  
> please heed the tags, this is intense and I want you to be safe and aware. if I missed something please let me know so I can add it.  
> also, this is unbeta'd so i apologise for the infinite mistakes. nonetheless, i hope you enjoy this.

“Well that was a bust,” Bucky drawled, gun drawn but aiming to the ground. It wouldn’t be stowed away until they reached the quinjet safely.

“You could say that again,” Clint mumbled, fatigued. “I didn’t even get to drink my coffee man, I’m running on fumes.”

Steve ambled behind them, keeping an eye out as they returned to the jet. The mission had been unsuccessful, a dead end in the Arctic of all places, but any information was good information, they were desperate in their endeavours. Still, the travel and weather had taken a toll on them all and they just wanted to get somewhere warm urgently.

“Don’t blame the lack of coffee, you’re always like this,” Natasha remarked, disinterested but listening to their conversation regardless.

“Leave me alone it’s too early,” he complained.

“It’s literally 6pm.”

“My point exactly.”

Steve was absent minded in his trek, looking around the tundra where snow dominated the land, established it. Gales of spiky ice meandered around them, prickling their skin underneath the grey sky. Winter was coming, and with-it permanent darkness. At least they knew now for certain that the ice didn’t hold the secrets they were promised.

“You need help,” she told him.

“Don’t we all?” Clint replied.

Though he wouldn’t admit it, Steve was experiencing slight apprehension returning to his temporary graveyard, emotions and feelings that he controlled tightly unspooling into a thread of promised chaos. There was something terrifying about the uncertainty shadowing every step and the ocean which they walked across. He was well acquainted with the dangers all of it held.

Looking forward at his team, he saw that they had walked ahead of him, the four of them closer to the jet than he was. Dimly, he smiled. He was fine, he was doing well. Sam had lost the concern etched in his eyes long ago, and Natasha trusted him to act how he was supposed to. Being above the ice was much easier than being beneath it, and the mission proved to be nothing he couldn’t handle.

The ball was in his court, each shot dictated by him. It was all going great.

Which is why, the universe (in that moment) decided that Steve Rogers excelling in being a functioning human was not the show it wished to play. Bored of his stoicism that was slowly alleviating into relief. And so, foolishly, he stepped onto ground that wasn’t as firm as the one he had just walked. Confused, he paused hard and looked around. The rest of the team were almost at the quinjet and presumably safe, not at all perturbed by the surface of the glaciers.

Breathing deeply, willing himself not to overreact as a result of his missteps, he nodded to himself. Just get off the ice, it was as simple as that. No harm done. Objective clear in his mind, he inclined to the left where he knew the snow bed would be more stable and felt it debilitate.

The ground beneath him trembled, a weak groan of life emanating from within the ice and too late, did Steve realise what was going to happen. A miniature earthquake was going to swallow him whole. He felt his heart seize in his chest. With a final crack and a hollow moan, the floor splintered, pieces of land scampering and plunging his body into the water below.

“Fuck!” he cried, unprepared for the descent and reached out to catch something that would cease his fall, but there was nothing. The tundra was swept away.

Entering the icy pool, his eyes (which had snapped shut) bulged open to reveal the- the- nothing. It was black. The water caressed his skin, snaking around his chest and clutching his heart, a greeting between two beloveds. Familiar arms stretched around him, the embrace cold and fear inducing, and all he could do was cry out in the water, bubbles drifting out of his mouth and delivered to the sky.

“No!” he mouthed desperately, the words eaten by the vacuum of silence, and he thrashed his arms, wanting to swim up but unable to, his mistress locking his joints in place rendering him immobile.

Gushes of water pried his mouth open, slithering down his throat and into his burning lungs, setting stone in his chest to weigh him down. Shaking his throbbing head, pupil cloaked, he mouthed nonsensical words, eyes scorching from the water that was biting his iris. Around him, the Valkyrie took shape.

No- no- no, he couldn’t go back. He wouldn’t survive a second time, he didn’t- couldn’t go-

Eyes springing open, he could have screamed.

He was falling again, the arctic plain coming closer and closer as he dived the controls towards the snowy blanket. _Move the wheel- move the fucking wheel Steve!_ He yelled in his mind, chest heaving at the incoming collision; he knew what was to come. Was aware of the armada of pain that would follow this mistake.

But he didn’t move the stick; the Valkyrie smashed against the ice; Steve lurched forward and connected roughly with the window, glass cackling.

Groaning as his back thrummed with agonising pain, a large roar silenced him, the metal engulfing his plane still moving. Forcing his eyelid to elevate, he saw the cockpit, blurred and distorted so he couldn’t identify the sound or its origin. What was it?

The sound of water gushed onboard, smothering his plane and forcing the Valkyrie to tip backwards, throwing him off the control keys and onto the floor. Panting, he pushed himself onto his elbows and looked around. Mist drugged his mind, confusion muting the impending anxiety, and he groaned sharply, lifting himself onto his feet but only for his right leg to protest the movement. He was okay. He was fine. He was-

The glass behind him chuckled, interrupting his internal monologue, and slowly, he pivoted on his heel to see why. The cracks on the window were growing, not exponentially but enough and the sunlight in which he once flew was evaporating. His heart stopped beating.

He was going to die. He was going to drown.

Stumbling back, his foot caught onto something and he reached out, holding the wall to brace him before he could die- _fall_. Before he could fall. Breathing strained and quick, he thought horrifically to himself, this was it. His dream was coming true. So why did it hurt so much?

Pressing against the wall, his fingers levitated to his face and scrambled through his hair, clutching at the strands and pulling harshly. He was terrified, scared beyond the horizon of fear and it wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough- he was dying.

Desperately, he thought to himself that he didn’t want to. Not anymore. Tasting it as he had, he discovered that the flavour was awful and tangy and he wanted to spit it out, didn't- no, couldn’t swallow. It poisoned his mouth. _I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die._

He was going to regardless.

“Fuck!” he bellowed, the word hoarse and struck with weakness.

All those times he danced with death, unconscious and unaware, they never prepared him for such a moment. Nothing ever could, because the experience was stifling and overwhelming, nothing he had ever felt before. God, he wished he was back in Brooklyn. Wished that Bucky or his ma were there holding him because he felt undeniably small and ill so strongly, that not even his pre-serum body could compete with it.

Craved his mother's arms, her fingers carving through his hair and pushing aside the blonde locks, whispering Irish lore like she did when he was ill: he begged to see her one last time. An urge had hadn’t felt in so long that was revived ferociously, and he pleaded with the empty room to conjure his ma’s soul and let him say bye. A sinner like him was destined for hell, he just needed to see her, _please_.

Hopeless. He knew she was gone. There was no last chance. This was it.

At that moment, the crack in the window burst and water spluttered into the room, accumulating at the lower end of the cockpit as the Valkyrie sunk. Eyes widening, he stared at it, helpless and lightheaded. Throat stuffed with cotton that he held as a child, he tried to protest the development but couldn’t. All he could do was watch. Watch his life simmer to gas: over.

He wanted Bucky- Bucky who swooped in whenever something went wrong and pulled him out of the mess before it was too late- he needed him. Needed his intoxication to salve the pain that blossomed inside Steve, coating his skeleton in agony. _Bucky, where are you? Find me. Find me please, I can’t do this._

This wasn’t a back alley, Bucky had said, it was war. And wars took, and took, and took, until a shell of a soul was left behind. He was right. Nothing would remain but a memory which would soon die with the rotting carcass in the ground. But for Steve and him, there would be no body. They would join millions of soldiers who owned nothing but a gravestone. It was war, and wars took. He signed up for this when he took the serum.

God, he didn’t regret it. Saving millions of lives in exchange of his could never be a source of regret. Especially when he got what he wanted: he wanted this, wanted the sweet kiss of death and the journey to the underground, but getting it. Having his yearning satisfied was bittersweet when he no longer wanted to die, didn’t want this tight embrace anymore- he wanted to live.

The universe was cruel. It always had been to Steve. But he couldn’t go down without a fight, right? Steve Rogers always pulled the short end of the stick, but he never gave up, he was a stubborn bastard. There had to be a way.

Frantically, he began to search the room, walking into the hostile water and going through whatever storage unit it had yet to annex. Limping through the freezing promise of demise, he ignored the way his heat was ravaged and the frostbite that was beginning to eat his legs. It was a sacrifice to live, one he was willing to make.

All the cabinets contained useless objects, nothing that would aid his journey in survival, and he couldn’t help but mumble, “no, no, no. this can’t be it. There has to be something. Please.”

There was nothing, his pleas unanswered. The scrolls of destiny wrote that his death was to be in the Valkyrie and so he would perish there, nothing could change what was written in stone. Definitely not Steve, a mortal with a scarlet tail of blood. Face clouded with absolute terror, he pulled his hair hysterically, the energy that had fuelled him for those crucial minutes dissipating.

There was no escaping his fate. What wanted to happen would. He had lost all control.

He dropped to knees, surrendering to his reality. He had to stop fighting sometime. This was his final goodbye.

Eyes shedding the water that was threatening to kill him, he fell against the wall and sobbed, quiet even in his destruction. With nothing to do but wait, burn in the turmoil that boiled inside him, he curled in on himself and did all he should do: pray and pray and pray.

Pray to God that he wakes up from this nightmare, because it wasn’t funny anymore, _please give me absolution I can’t do this anymore_. Pray to God he reunites with those he lost. Pray to God that he doesn’t have a painful death. And finally, he prayed to God that this would be worth it. He needed it to be worth something. His death could not result in desolation for persons soul, it had to ensure life. It needed to.

The water gathered faster, oozed into the plane from every corner it could squeeze through and Steve could feel it soak his body. A terrified cry pushed through his sealed lips and he thought feverishly to himself, it’s happening, this is it, I’m going to drown. Nothing could change that moment for him, not anymore, and so he allowed himself to fall apart, weeping loud for no one to hear his anguished sobs.

People came into the world as lonely passengers, and they left the same way.

He tried to look away- ignore the water that was smothering his clothes, but he couldn’t tear his gaze; what was scarier: knowing or not knowing? Conflicted, and tired but fuelled with unending adrenaline, he decided it didn’t matter, not really. Because the water had poured and poured until it was where it was then, breaching his mouth.

Soon it dragged over his face, so he was completely submerged in the glacial waste, and he gasped- choked- swallowed, floundering as he tried to fight it from strangling him. He wished to go peacefully, but his body contradicted everything his mind supplied- it fought against the grim reality. All it did was hurt Steve more.

It was fixed, his death was imminent, so doing what the universe wished for him, he drank the water that was suffocating the soul out of him, hoping it would accelerate the process. To prolong the inevitable was cruel and inhumane, he wanted to pass over as quickly as he could. And it worked, because soon enough the exhaustion and pain and searing agony had consumed him, squeezed the life out of him leaving the carcass to drift to the bed of the Valkyrie. He had made one last silent call, one final beg before closing his eyes for last time in a long while, the last moment of weakness he would ever allow him.

The cold seeped into his body and laced his bones with frost; frost he didn't know would preserve him until the future called: all he knew was that death had arrived, kissing him passionately and sucking his soul from his body. In the end, he left the world as messily as he joined it, going full circle.

“Steve?” he heard, “Steve, come on talk to me. Natasha what’s ETA?”

What? That was- it was-

 “He’s not responding. What is going on, why isn’t he-” the same voice urgently inquired.

Gasping, Steve’s eyelids surged, bulbous and prickling, as he coughed, liquid crawling up his throat and projecting water like a geezer. Hands grabbed his shoulders and lifted him, encouraged him to cough facing the ground so the water would crumble out of his mouth and onto the floor, secreting the floor of the- of the- of the _quinjet_.

“Steve? Steve, come on bud, breathe with me that’s it,” the same voice- Bucky, his mind supplied- urged, rubbing circles against his back.

He felt bile rise in his throat at the contact, disgust at being touched and weakly, he moved away, scrambled to the wall. The wall where he died. Holy shit, he died. He fucking died.

“Steve?” Bucky asked, eyes gleaming in worry. “What are you- what’s going on pal?”

He couldn’t breathe. The oxygen was getting trapped in his airways and it was the Valkyrie all over again- he didn’t escape, he was drowning-

“Steve,” another voice, Sam started, dripping in caution. “You’re safe, you’re okay. It’s 2016, alright? No Valkyrie here man, just you and us. You’re safe.”

There was no Valkyrie? Then why couldn’t he- _think_. Why couldn’t he do anything, not even move to get his body to safety rather than succumbing to the impending future fatality. They needed to go. He couldn’t get through this with them there.

“Leave,” he croaked weakly, coughing as the hands pulsating around his throat tightened.

“Leave?” Bucky repeated incredulously. “The hell I am, Steve! I’m not going anywhere, let me help you, please. What’s wrong, just talk to me. That’s all I wa-”

“Leave,” he said again, voice firmer and assertive. He managed a weak glare as the world around him began to transform into metal sedated under water.

Bucky glared back at him. “I said I’m no-”

“Bucky,” Sam intervened softly. “Let’s go, come. He needs some space and privacy, let him have it.”

“But-”

Ignoring Bucky, Sam addressed the evidently distraught Steve and said, “you promise you’re gonna be okay?” There was no mission for Steve to throw himself into it to hurt. He nodded stiffly. “The moment it gets out of control you come to me, alright? I’ll be back in ten minutes to check up on you, but just in case.”

Unable to protest, tongue tied, he nodded again. He’d never enlist Sam’s help, the casket was closed burying his secrets inside, but the reassurance was needed. It was all he could offer. After all, no one needed to waste their time worrying or fretting over him.

Slowly, Sam and Bucky drifted out of the room, probably to the rest of the team but maybe not. Pointedly, Steve ignored Bucky’s piercing gaze as it never strayed from him, heavy and dutiful. He was a disappoint to everyone, Bucky had to remember sooner rather than later.

Crowding against the wall once more, resuming a position he was in just minutes ago to welcome his death, Steve breathed deep and long, forcing himself to swallow the oxygen it yearned for.

He was okay, he was safe. The Valkyrie was dead. It was dead but he was still alive.

He couldn’t decide if that was a good thing. In the end it wouldn’t matter, would it? Because it was clear to him, years after the descent and acknowledging his feelings, that it would forever grip his skin and merge into his bones, unifying him and pain as long-lost lovers.

The serum did as Erskine vowed, it cured his ailments and stitched his body back together in days rather than weeks. But the turmoil which greased the lining of his brain and baked suffering remained despite it all. He was not made to acquaint, see, or live pain free.

This occurrence only solidified that. It was okay though, he reasoned, nothing lasts forever: even the sun would taste death. To see greatness, everything must see an end and eventually, Steve would join the lucky few. Demise would always be scary, but it was just as comforting to a man who craved an escape.

Considering his recent experience, he thought, perhaps he should think logically at what he desired. His plunge into the ice showed a different reality of being so close to death. But it was fine. He was never good at learning his lesson.

Later, back in the tower and their shared bed, Bucky said to Steve in the darkness, “want to talk about today?”

He did not. Unable to speak, his words spent, he shook his head and coiled further in his position, back facing Bucky.

“You don’t have to then. I’ve got you anyway.” He lost all hesitation and did what he did every night, curled around Steve and pressed their skin together, as much as he could. Steve felt a tender kiss on the back of his neck and shivered. “Goodnight Steve, I love you.”

Unable to leave it how it was, Steve closed his eyes and swallowed a sigh of despair. “I love you too Buck.”

It was all he could anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr:  bountifulsilences   
> twitter:  AwestruckBuck 


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